Unclean, Undisturbed
by Designation
Summary: It's the first time since I've known him that I'm afraid to look Nick in the eye. Grissom's point of view, takes place somewhere during or after Let the Seller Beware.


**Unclean, Undisturbed**

**by**

**Kel**

**Disclaimer: **I claim no ownership to CSI or anything related to it, and I make no profit from this fiction.

**Author's Note: **This is a one-shot, inspired by the lovely pool scene in _Let the Seller Beware._ Written from Grissom's point of view.

* * *

My train of thought is interrupted by a weary groan, as someone sits down two seats away. I'm in the Break Room, having a bite to eat. I know I should take a moment to step away from the case, but that's one thing I've always had trouble accomplishing.

I don't look up, but out of the corner of my eye, I see Nick rubbing his hands over his arms. He's been doing that a lot tonight.

"Something wrong, Nicky?"

Peripheral movement. He's probably shaking his head. "Just looking forward to going home to another long, hot shower."

Understandable. I nod slightly and go back to trying not to think, but he hasn't looked up either, and takes my silence to mean that I want an explanation.

"I mean, swimming in a pool full of millions of particles of dead guy isn't my idea of a party." I take a bite out of my sandwich as he lets out a dry, strained chuckle. "That's one level of unclean even _I _hadn't managed to feel before."

Now I look up. He's startled me into it.

He sees me out of the corner of his eye, just as I've been seeing him. He turns as well, and our eyes meet. After a moment of this contact, he looks a bit confused.

"What?" he asks, then, ever-explaining, "You're giving me that 'Grissom' look."

The question comes out of me before I can stop to think that maybe I don't want to know the answer. I usually look before I leap, so in the end it is an uncharacteristic slip that wakes me up.

"Exactly how many 'levels of unclean' have you felt, Nick?"

So help me, he looks like he's been punched in the gut. He turns away from me again. I can't do the same; if not because of the look in his eyes, then because of the way his hand shakes as he takes a long drag of his coffee.

If he's drinking the office brew, then the coffee is as thick as the air has become. I'm frozen in place, and he's not answering.

Then he laughs that same laugh, but I can almost hear more joy in it.

He smiles, and the ground beneath me must be tilting. I realize that I need to sit down, but the knowledge that I'm already sitting is a step behind.

Perhaps he doesn't notice my distress, or perhaps he's ignoring it. Either way, I can see the tension of moments before seeping out of his body. Hell, the tension of the entire night is melting away.

What makes me push away my food without thinking is the reason he's suddenly so at ease.

His smile. He smiles, and the pain is squashed underfoot as if under a stampede. He smiles to shove the hurt under a rug.

And really, don't I know that smile? How many times have I seen him wear it? God, Nicky, how many times?

Voices are approaching from the hallway.

He turns back to me and gives me another odd look. Like I'm the one with the problem. Beneath the arched eyebrows lie a pair of eyes that remind me only of holes in the ground; of graves. As I watch, the green grass grows over them, fueled by the sunlight of his grin.

It's the first time since I've known him that I'm afraid to look Nick in the eye.

Then Catherine and Warrick are in the room, laughing and pouring themselves some coffee. Warrick cracks some joke that I don't hear and probably wouldn't get if I did, and Nick laughs along with them.

Once he's completely back to the normal Nicky, the Nicky into which so much effort must once have been placed – so much, I'm afraid to think of it – he picks up his empty mug and his scraps and rises.

As he's walking out of the room, he pauses.

He turns back to me and responds, "Enough." For the briefest moment, he lets the mask slip to say it.

Catherine or Warrick might ask him what he means, but the smile is back before they notice anything amiss. They think nothing of it.

Instead, when he's gone, their attention turns to me. They ask _me _if _I'm _alright.

My response scares me.

I smile and say I'm fine.

**End.**


End file.
